


Paging Dr. Freud

by novemberhush



Series: Paging Dr. Freud [1]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: And then all the fluff, But they're our idiots so what you gonna do, Call it what you will, Ecstatic Mike, I call it the love letters of a couple of idiots, Letter fic, M/M, Some angst, Therapy works, epistolary fic, marvey, pining Harvey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:26:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8578489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberhush/pseuds/novemberhush
Summary: When Harvey Specter's therapist assigns him a written exercise to help deal with his mommy issues the last thing he expects to find himself doing is pouring out his feelings for a certain Mike Ross. But that's what happens. The question is, what would happen if Mike were to ever stumble upon this outpouring?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zimdan19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimdan19/gifts).



> Hey! Sorry for posting another story so soon, but I've been a bit remiss of late and had a few stories posted on tumblr that I hadn't got around to posting here. This brings me bang up to date, though. Well, at least in the Marvey fandom! I have to go post a Johnlock fic in the 'Sherlock' fandom right after this! I had the idea for this a while ago, but didn't write it until the Marvey Fic Challenge 'Masks and Mirrors' came out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Thanks to Sairyn for the beta. Oh, and although I usually use the British spelling of words in my fics, as this is supposed to be actually written by our two American heroes themselves I have tried to stick to American English (for example, honor instead of honour). As always, I own none of the characters herein. :-)

_Dear Mike,_

_  
Huh. Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen. I made a mistake (yeah, yeah, it happens, smartass). This letter wasn’t supposed to be addressed to you. At least, I don’t think it was. My shrink would probably say there are no mistakes. That subconsciously I have things I want to say to you and that’s why your name is at the top of this letter. Maybe she’d be right (and somewhere in the afterlife Freud just punched the air and yelled, “Ja!”). Christ, did I just admit there might be something to all this therapy crap?_

_  
Why am I even still writing this?! Why am I writing you a letter I have no intention of ever letting you read? Why didn’t I just score your name out and start again? Or screw this piece of paper up and throw it in the trash? (A shot even you could make from here, by the way, rookie, because LeBron, you ain’t.)_

_  
It was supposed to be addressed to my mother but never actually sent, an exercise designed by Dr. Agard to get me to work on some of my mommy issues, in case you were wondering. Which, of course, you weren’t, because you’re never going to read this. But I felt I should clear that up anyway, seeing as how either my hand or this pen seems to have taken on a life of its own and won’t let me stop writing this pointless crap. So I guess I should start at the beginning and give you all the facts. And, yes, the pen is the one you gave me, and seriously, why am I using a goddamn ‘Wayne Enterprises’ novelty pen when I have a Montblanc sitting right here on my desk?? First rule of lawyering, don’t ask questions you don’t know the answer to. Second rule of lawyering, don’t ask questions you don’t **want** to know the answer to. Well, I know the answer, rookie. I’ve known for a long time now. Jesus, if that asshole Stemple had asked for this pen instead of the painting I think I would have went all John Cusack in ‘Grosse Pointe Blank’ and stabbed him with it rather than give it up. But you don’t know anything about that because I was supposed to start from the start. _

_  
Aw, hell, what am I babbling on about?? I’m worse than Louis that time he was hopped up on so much coffee his back teeth were practically floating in it and all because he was crushing on the barista in that little coffee shop you like. (See? I do listen. I can name everything you like, Mike. All your favourite foods, colours, designers, sports teams, movies, albums, restaurants, people, places, everything. Well, almost everything. What I don’t know is how you like to be kissed. Do you like it slow, deep, gentle and **thorough**? Or do you prefer it fast, dirty, heated and rough? I like both. I bet you do too, don’t you, Mike? Fuck, now I’m just turning this into an exercise in masochism. Torturing myself with questions I’m never going to know the answer to.)_

_  
Right, Jesus, enough of the pity party. From the top then._

_  
Dr. Agard finally got the story about what happened to the duck painting out of me in therapy yesterday. Which is more than you have. I’ll never tell you, if I can help it. Telling you about it would be like me personally booking you a one way ticket for the first class guilt trip I know you’d take over it and I don’t want to do that, Mike. But Agard, she knew something was eating at me. Rather than tell her it was worrying over how soon my best friend was going to reschedule his wedding (because wouldn’t that just open up a can of worms I’m not interested in getting into with a stranger I pay to listen to me whine), I threw her the ‘my college nemesis, or at least the one I wasn’t sleeping with, made me give him the one good memory I had left of my mother’ story as a distraction. It worked. They say all the best lies have a kernel of truth in them. Because, yeah, losing that painting stung, kid, I’m not going to lie._

_  
But the truth is that was like a paper cut compared to the amputation of losing you. Compared to the massive, gaping wound of having to watch you fight for the life you were always meant to have and then seeing you give up that fight, that life, to protect me. Of witnessing you almost marry someone else, someone who isn’t **me** , then standing helplessly by as you walked away from me and into prison, your assurance that you’d do it all again still ringing in my ears. I wonder would you have still said that after your first few days in there. After you experienced the reality of incarceration and the injustice of running into my past. (Of course, that’s just how your shitty luck goes, isn’t it, rookie? You walk into prison to protect me and straight into someone who’d happily kill me and everyone I love. You never catch a break, do you? Were you Genghis Khan in a previous life or something?! Because I don’t know how else to explain a bleeding heart do-gooder like you having such bad karma otherwise.) It would be unfair of me to ask you if you’d still say you’d do it all over again, though. I know that, Mike. Trust me, I do know that. So I’m not going to. Or maybe I just don’t want to hear the answer._

_  
You know what my problem is? I ask too much of people, expect them to live up to some impossible standard. That’s what my mother said anyway, when I found out she was cheating on my dad. Like expecting her to be faithful to the man she’d vowed to love, honor and cherish was asking too much! Yeah, not real good at the whole ‘forsaking all others’ part, my mom. But maybe she had a point about me. Maybe I do ask too much from others, expecting them to live up to some arbitrary standard of loyalty and honesty and decency I’ve set for them. But here’s the thing, Mike. You haven’t just **met** every standard I’ve ever set; you’ve surpassed them. In ways I never thought possible._

__  
I never figured on you, Mike. I never factored in the possibility that I, Harvey Specter, arrogant, uncaring asshole might actually fall in love. And with a man ten years my junior, to boot. But fall I did. I’m still falling. Every day, deeper and deeper in love with you.  
I tried not to. I tried to drown it in scotch or bury it in the skin of some cocktail waitress or Louis’ sister or whoever, but none of it worked. Now I just stick to the scotch. The thought of touching someone else in that way, someone who isn’t you, turns my stomach. Do you see what you’ve done to me?? This is why I fought against emotions for so long. They leave you a gibbering wreck, spewing sentimental, sophomoric bullshit about eternal love and forever and soulmates and other halves of ourselves. Hearts and flowers and souls connecting. And fate.

_  
I keep rewinding to the day we met. Do you ever think about that day? That’s a stupid question. Of course you do. You must. You must wonder what path your life would have taken if that day had went differently. I keep thinking what my life would be like if you’d never walked through that door, if I’d never caught a glimpse of you. But you did walk through it, Mike, and I caught more than a glimpse. I saw all of you, Mike. Really **saw**. _

_  
Do you think that was fate? You stumbling into my interviews and into my life? Jesus, listen to me. **Fate**. Like there’s some unseen, unknown force out there that actually gives a rat’s ass about you and me being in the right place at the right time and with the right person. Yeah, right._

_  
But, I mean … have you ever just stopped, and looked around you, and wondered, **how did** **this become my life?** I bet you have. Of course you have. When your parents died (they’d be so proud of you, you know that, right?), when you got kicked out of college, when I hired you, when you got arrested, when you went to Danbury. God knows how many other times. I’ve been doing that a lot recently. Hell, I’ve been doing it for the past six years. Looking around and wondering just what the fuck happened. ( **You**. You happened.)_

_  
I used to think I was three steps ahead of everyone, ahead of **life** , but no one’s ahead of life, Mike. I guess you learned that the hard way, at an early age, then had it beat into you over and over again. I was arrogant, cocky, so sure of myself and full of misplaced pride at how certain I was nothing or no one could ever touch me. I was going through life with blinders on to what was really important - and I never saw you coming. Would I have got out of your way if I had? Would I have sent you on your way that day in the Chilton Hotel instead of hiring you? No, because the truth is I was yours from the moment that weed spilled across the floor and you tried to think of some ridiculous lie to tell me but then just gave it up as a lost cause and told me the truth. Because that’s who you are, Mike, at your core - an honest man. You’re not a liar (okay, an argument could be made that’s not strictly true, I suppose, but in every way that counts you’re all about the truth, kid). You’re not a fraud. No matter what the Great State of New York or anyone else says. You’re the most real person I’ve ever met._

_  
And I let you down; failed you in so many ways, over and over again. You have no idea how that haunts me. No idea what it was like. Me, out here, free, while you were trapped in there, paying for not just my sins, but for some of the good I’ve done too. Because getting Gallo locked up **was** a good thing. Well, right up until you walked into the same prison as him. I’m not trying to make out it was a ball for you. I’m not trying to turn this into a ‘who suffered the most?’ competition. I guess I just need you to know that I **did** suffer, Mike. Even if it’s only by writing it here, in this letter that you’re never going to read. Which makes about as much sense as Louis on any given day, but I suppose Dr. Agard would say just getting it all out is the point. So here goes._

_  
Do you know how fucking jealous I was when you texted Rachel that first night and not me? I know, crazy, right? What goddamn right do I have to be jealous about anything you do? But I was. I still am. I don’t want to be angry at her (or you) for her being the first person you reached out to. I don’t want to be jealous of her. But I am. I have been from the moment I realised you had feelings for her. Real feelings, not some stupid little crush or just wanting to bang her brains out. Not going to lie, that was real fucking hard to accept, Mike. I’m not sure I even have accepted it yet._

_  
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into a hate on Rachel thing. But I’ve got to ask - does she get you, Mike? I mean, **really** get you. The way I do? Does she make you laugh like I can? Does she get your references? Does she challenge you, make you think? Does she push you to be all I know you can be, all I know you **are**? Does she understand what drives you, what makes you tick? Does she see you for who you really are, the way I see you? The way I **know** you. See, I don’t think she does. And that hurts. Knowing she’ll never be as good for you as I could. That’s not arrogance or bragging, it’s just a fact, Mike. No one’s ever going to love you as well as I could, the **way** I could, the way I **do**. And, like I said, that hurts. But no matter how much it hurts, I still don’t regret you. I’ll never regret you._

_  
Every day you were in that place I asked myself, “Is today the day I lose him?”. No, scratch that, I’ve been asking myself that question every day for years now. It just took on a whole new frightening dimension when you got locked up, especially once I found out you were in there with Gallo. He’s a stone cold killer, Mike, and I was terrified for you. Well, you’ve met him, you don’t need me to tell you I had good reason to be scared._

_  
But that’s over now. You’re out of there and you’re safe and now I just have to be thankful for that. Have to be thankful I’m going to lose you to marriage and not death. Although I’ve often viewed them as much the same thing in the past. Of course, that’s all different now too. I’d stand up with you tomorrow and promise to love, honor and cherish you, forsaking all others, for the rest of my days, if you’d have me. Yeah, that’s right, I’d marry you tomorrow if I could. Hell, I’d marry you this minute if you asked. That’s all you’d have to do, Mike, just ask._

_  
God, listen to me, I’m embarrassing myself here. I might as well just buy a cat and set up a weekly mudding appointment with Louis right now. Jesus, I shouldn’t even be dumping on him anymore. Three weeks and he’s engaged! He manned up and went out and got everything he wanted. **In three weeks!** I’ve had six years to get my act together and **Louis** is showing me how it should be done?! I’m pathetic._

_  
You want to know just how pathetic? I actually stood outside your office one day, for what felt like hours, just staring through the glass at your desk, at your empty chair, at the place you should have been. I stared at your name on the door (did you know your name is my favourite thing in the world to say, to write, my favourite thing to have in my mouth, on my tongue, at the end of my fingertips? **Mike, Mike, Mike.** ) and wondered how eight little letters could spell my world entire. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers over it, over every blessed letter that makes up your name. I wanted to kiss it ( **I want to kiss you** ) and was probably about eight seconds away from doing just that if Donna hadn’t turned up. _

_  
So I just stared at your name on the door like a name on a headstone. I was like one of those sad little dogs that sit by their dead owner’s grave, pining away, hoping they’ll come back. I felt like you died. No, that’s not right. I felt like **I’d** died. And I’d dragged you down to Hell with me. I felt so empty, like part of me was missing. You, you were the part of me that was missing. And yet you were always with me. Always. Explain that to me if you can, with that great big beautiful brain of yours. _

_  
It was like I was empty, but carrying around this enormous weight at the same time. Hollow inside, but with the weight of the world on my shoulders. You probably think I’m an Ayn Rand type of guy, but trust me, this Atlas wouldn’t have shrugged. I wouldn’t have shirked, I wouldn’t have set that weight aside for anything, Mike. Because it was you. You’re my world. You have been for such a long time now and I could never set you aside, even if I wanted to. I wouldn’t know how to. You’re part of me, Mike, the best part, and I’d carry you anywhere. I’ll carry you with me always, for the rest of my life. That’s just something I know. Don’t ask me how, I just do. As sure as I know my name is Harvey Specter, the sky is blue (like your goddamn glorious eyes) and Travis Tanner is a douchebag. And still I’ll never regret you._

_  
My dad once told me that to regret loving is to regret living. We were talking about my mom at the time. I’d asked him why, Marcus and me aside, he didn’t seem to regret ever having met her and that was his reply. I didn’t get it at the time and I told him as much. He just grinned and said, “You will one day, son, you will one day.” Well, I guess one day finally came._

_  
He predicted all this, you know, the same night he told me I’d some day understand what he meant about regret and love. He said one day someone would come into my life and tip it upside down, but it would feel like I was finally standing on my feet for the first time in my life. And no matter what happened after that, I’d never regret meeting that person, regret loving them, this someone who had set me right way up. You’re that someone, Mike. You’re that person. And, yeah, he said ‘someone’ and ‘person’, not ‘she’, ‘her’ or ‘woman’. I didn’t pay it much heed at the time, but looking back now it’s almost as if he knew._

_  
Or maybe he just knew a little something about me I tried to bury, deep down inside, in the darkest corners of myself, where it would never see the light of day, only letting it out at night in anonymous bars with anonymous strangers. Until I met you. Until you walked in and shone your light into the blackest recesses of my soul and I couldn’t deny this part of me anymore. Until I started waking up in the middle of the night with damp sheets twisted around me and your name on my lips. The false memory of your skin under my hands, your body under mine, on top of mine, pressed up against mine, running through my head. The scent of your hair almost tangible in the air. Your face in my mind’s eye. Your eyes, your lips, your goddamn **nose** , seared in my brain, as I imagined kissing all of them. Imagined kissing all of you. Every. Single. Inch. And I’m stopping with that line of thought before I need a cold shower._

_  
I wish you could have met him, my dad. You’d have liked him, I know you would. And he’d have loved you. But then, it’s in the Specter genes, I suspect. We’re hardwired to love you. Or at least I am. But I guess the question is, could you ever love me back? Not just as a friend, but as everything two people could possibly be to each other._

_  
I wonder how you would feel, what you would say, if I had the guts to take off the mask of friendship I’ve been wearing for so long. If I had the balls to slip this letter into the same envelope as the offer letter I have sitting here on my desk, waiting for me to give it to you tonight at the bar. This is the offer letter I really wanted to write, not the one Jessica and Louis signed off on as well, but this one. The one where I offer you all of me, everything I am or ever will be, everything I have, such as it is. Would that be something you’d be interested in, Mike? Would it be an offer you couldn’t refuse? Would your whole goddamn beautiful face light up, those eyes radiating happiness, that smile beaming and making my stomach do backflips?_

_  
Or would you be embarrassed, uncomfortable, blushing, squirming in your seat, unable to look me in the eye. And when you finally did would all I’d see in your eyes be pity? We’d both be stranded in that little corner of Purgatory known as ‘awkward’ then, wouldn’t we? I’d really lose you then. Oh, you’d be sweet about it, let me down gently, I’ve no doubt about that. But the damage would have been done, the rot would have set in, and slowly our friendship, the only thing I have left to cling to, would be eroded and little by little you would pull away from me. And I couldn’t stand that, Mike. I can’t let you go, not completely. And so here I am. Stuck in limbo, wondering what could be, but too chickenshit to take the plunge and find out. But, what if…_

_  
What if you actually felt the same way about me? Am I kidding myself? Making myself see things that aren’t really there? Sometimes I feel like we have these little moments where all I would have to do would be reach out and take you in my arms and you’d go willingly and we’d never look back. Would you, Mike? Would you wrap your arms around me, let me do the same to you? Let me hold you, feel you, breathe you in, kiss you, **taste** you? Wouldn’t even the **possibility** you might want all those things too be worth the risk of me asking? God help me, I want to believe, I do. But I’m not sure I can. _

_  
I wish my dad was still around. I would tell him all about you, ask him what he thought I should do. But I can’t do jackshit with ‘I wish’. I’m on my own with this one. Marcus would try to understand, but he’d never really get it. I can’t talk to Donna about it, not after she told me she loved me. It would be rubbing salt in the wound. Jessica would just tell me to grow a pair. Louis? Yeah, no, that’s never happening. And that just leaves you. It always comes down to you in the end, Mike._

_  
I know what you’d tell me to do if I went to you with a hypothetical, if I didn’t mention **you** were the hypothetical. You’d tell me to take the leap. That knowing for certain, one way or the other, is the only way I’ll ever really be happy. If my hypothetical says yes, then great, we can double date with you and Rachel. And if they say no, at least I’ll know and can start to accept I have to move on. Then you’d probably shoot me that grin of yours, wouldn’t you? The one I can never resist grinning back at like a loon. You’d grin and tell me not to worry, that there’s no one out there Harvey Specter can’t close. And I’d want to believe you, I’d want to believe you so badly. So badly that I almost would, I’d almost do it, almost tell you. But then I’d remember Rachel and the mask would slip back into place again and I’d bottle it all up inside me. _

_  
There’s my answer, I suppose. I can’t lose you, Mike. It would kill me, not having you in my life. So I guess I’m just going to go to that bar tonight and hand you the official offer letter, the one that would bring you back here to the firm, back where you belong. And I’m going to smile and joke and pretend my heart isn’t breaking all the while, then go home alone and drown myself in scotch and dreams of you._

_  
That’s it then, isn’t it? Dr. Agard would be proud of me. I’ve said all I needed to say. Except one thing. A smart kid like you can probably figure out what that is. I didn’t exactly make it hard to read between the lines._

_  
I love you, Mike._

_  
There it is. Plain and simple and in black and white. And it’s written all over my face if only you could see beneath this mask I wear._

_  
I love you._

_  
Yours, now and always,_

_  
Harvey_


	2. Chapter 2

_  
Dear Harvey,_

_  
You’re an idiot._

_  
Sorry, I probably should have prefaced that with a little background information as to why you’ve woken up to find a letter from me on your nightstand, along with two aspirin and a glass of water. I wasn’t hanging around watching you sleep or anything, in case you were wondering. (Well, I’ll try not to for too long, anyway, but I really can’t make any promises.) I just wanted you to read what I had to say as soon as possible. Because the sooner you read this, the sooner you’ll realise what an idiot you are (okay, we both are) and the sooner our new life can begin. That’s right, I said **our** new life._

_  
But before we get to that part I suppose I should start from the start. That’s some sage advice I read somewhere recently. Yeah, that’s right, Specter, I read your letter._

_  
Don’t freak out! Don’t freak out! It’s okay. I promise, it’s okay. It’s so much more than okay._

_  
I didn’t go looking for it, by the way. I wasn’t just going through your things for the hell of it once I got your drunk ass into bed (and believe me, next time I get your ass into bed you won’t be drunk and I won’t be leaving immediately after). But you got so out of it last night after you gave me the offer letter to come back to the firm that I had to accompany you home just to make sure you got there all right. Truth is, you had me worried. I’ve never seen you that drunk before (I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you drunk at all before) and when you just threw your jacket over the back of the couch and didn’t even care when it slid to the ground, well, I knew for sure then something was wrong. The Harvey ‘haven’t you ever heard of a hanger?’ Specter I know would never treat his clothes that way, drunk or not. I tried asking you if everything was all right, but all I got was a slurred, garbled (and probably all the better for that) Brando in 'The Godfather’ impression about “making me an offer I can’t refuse”. So I decided to wait until you sobered up and try again then._

_  
“But how did you get the letter, Mike?!”, I can practically hear you demanding. Patience, Harvey, I’m getting there._

_  
Once I got you to bed I was going to leave, but I went over to lift your jacket first. And an envelope fell out of your inside pocket. I was just lifting it to put it back in your pocket, I swear, but then I saw my name on it, and, well, I got curious. What?? I’m a curious person, you know this about me. It can’t come as any great surprise to you. And it **did** have my name on it, Harvey! What was I supposed to do? Come on, you’d have done the same thing in my position, admit it. Besides, you’re the one’s got this whole Freudian thing going on at the minute. Maybe you secretly wanted me to find it and read it. Or maybe you were just so wasted you didn’t know what you were doing. Either way, I read it._

_  
And … wow. That was some letter. Seriously, if this whole lawyer thing doesn’t work out for you, never mind Ayn Rand, I think you’ve got a future writing Harlequin romance novels, you big sap. No one’s ever written me a letter like that before. Well, not that I know of. Maybe there’s a whole slew of unsent declarations of love addressed to me tucked away in the underwear drawers of dozens of my friends and acquaintances. But I doubt it. And even if there is, yours is the only declaration I care about. I’m not going to lie, it was a bit of a shock. I never expected to hear (or read, whatever, you know what I mean) those things from you. But here’s the thing - it was a good shock. A **great** shock. The best. You want to kiss me? Well, that works out well, because I want to kiss you right back._

_  
Because I love you, too, Harvey **Reginald** (come on, you didn’t actually think I was going to forget that, did you?) Specter. I have for such a long time now. It’s just something that’s always there, something that’s become a part of me, like the colour of my 'goddamn glorious’ eyes, or my 'goddamn nose’ or my whole 'goddamn beautiful face’. You say 'goddamn’ a lot, did you know that? It’s kind of cute, actually. You’re kind of cute. You’re all **kinds** of cute._

_  
I thought that the first time I saw you (yeah, you’re not the only one who’s been hiding a part of himself away). I thought, I must be high or dreaming because he can’t be true, no one is **that** good-looking. But then you were shaking my hand and your grip was warm and strong and **real** and I didn’t want to let go. And then that damn briefcase opened. _

_  
You wanted to know what I thought about fate and if I ever wondered about how different my life might have been if I’d never stumbled into that interview that day. But what if that briefcase hadn’t chosen that exact moment to open? What would have happened then? Would I have half-assed my way through an interview? Convinced you I was an idiot, tarnishing poor Rick Sorkin’s reputation eternally and ensuring he never got hired by Pearson Hardman or any of the incarnations the company has went through since? Then just walked away from you for ever?_

_  
Or would I have been unable to suppress the urge to show off for you, the urge I always have to show off for you, to want to impress you so badly? Because I do, you know. Want to impress you. That want sprang up in me unbidden that very first day at the Chilton and has fuelled my every move, my every decision, my every **thought** since then. I want to make you proud of me. All the time. I’d do almost anything to get a smile from you, or a pat on the back, a handshake or a, “Good job, Mike.” And you thought you were pathetic._

_  
You’re not, by the way. You’re incredible. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. Yes, you set high standards for people, but you ask nothing of others that you don’t demand of yourself. It’s an honor to strive to meet your standards. You make people better. You make **me** better. I don’t know how my life would have turned out if we’d never met that day or if you’d sent me away or if I’d somehow found the strength to walk away from you for good, but I know I’m glad I never had to find out. You’ve been my guiding light, my helping hand and my shelter from the storm for so long now and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. And you have **never** let me down. Get that through your thick head right now. Never. Not when it came right down it. You were always there for me and I’ll never forget that. Ride or die, babe. That’s what we’ve always been to each other, right from the start, and that's what we always will be._

_  
I’m sorry if it seemed like I forgot that for a while (I didn’t, I promise you, I didn’t). I’m so sorry for the way I treated you when I was in Danbury. I know I lashed out at you and that was unfair. I was so scared in there and angry at myself for being so naïve yet again as to trust Gallo that first night and the only way I could let it all out was by lashing out at someone I knew wouldn’t lash back. You. I’m so sorry I couldn’t see how much you were hurting too. I’m so sorry. But I will never be sorry for meeting you. I will never regret you. So, I hope that answers that question you don’t want to ask me about whether I’d do it all over again. I would. In a heartbeat. Because it’s all led me here, to this moment, to you, and that could never be a path I regret taking. Grammy once told me I’d meet someone special one day too, just like your dad told you. She was right, of course, as always. I just never thought a briefcase of weed and an aborted attempt at being a drug dealer would be the thing that led me to you. Not exactly the ‘meet cute’ most people dream of, but I’ll take it._

_  
I’m glad you got the chance to meet her, by the way. Grammy. She liked you, you know. But then, you could charm the birds from the trees, couldn’t you? You just have to turn those eyes, so warm and full of life, on someone and they’re putty in your hands. Or maybe that’s just me. (Nah, it’s not just me. But it better be from now on! You haven’t got the monopoly on jealousy, you know.) I wish you could’ve got to know her better, though. And I wish I had had the privilege of meeting your father. I’m sure I would have liked him. And I know I’d have made a fool of myself trying to impress him, trying to convince him I was good enough for his son. I hope he would have seen how much I love you and known no one else would ever be able to match up to me in that respect, at least._

_  
And I do, you know. Love you. I’m just not sure I deserve you. But I’m damn well going to try to. I promise you that. You said I’m an honest man. Well, here’s the truth. You know that expression about people being 'larger than life’? I never really got that before. Until I met you. Until you looked at me with those eyes of yours, soft and twinkling (yes, you twinkle! You twinkle all the time!) and able to melt hearts with a single glance. Until I met the most real, alive, exciting, **vital** man I’ve ever had the good fortune to know. Yeah, my karma ain’t all bad, sweetcheeks. It got me you, didn’t it?_

_  
Although if it took a hit right about now, I’d understand. Because when I read your letter (multiple times) and it had all finally sunk in, I went straight home and broke up with Rachel. Bad news? It’s probably going to be a tad awkward round the office for a while. Good news? Probably not that awkward and not for too long. Honestly, if I wasn’t so happy about you and me and so relieved I didn’t hurt her horribly, I’d be a little offended at how well she took it. She didn’t seem all that surprised (seems the only people we’re good at hiding our feelings from are each other and that stops now) or, indeed, upset. She may not get me the way you do, but I think she’s starting to get herself a bit more and has realised I’m superfluous to that process at this point. It’s like being apart from me, being on her own for a while, reminded Rachel of who she was when we met, of who she was before me, without me - and it turns out she rather likes that person. I do, too. It’s why I chose her when I thought I couldn’t have you. That sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Like I was just using her. The truth is, I do care about her, a hell of a lot, and I would have done everything in my power to make her happy if we’d gone through with the wedding. But I’m glad we didn’t. Because there’s really only one person I want to marry, want to spend my life with, want to get old with (or older, in your case, old timer). You. It’s always been you, Harvey._

  
_There were times when I thought you must know that. Times when I thought you might just possibly feel the same, when I thought you were about to reach out and pull me to you. Times when I almost launched myself at you. Because I thought,_ **he** **_must know, he_ must _._** _Well, now you do. We both do. Those charged little moments weren’t just in our imaginations. They were real. Just like you, me, and this inexplicable, unexplainable thing between us. This undeniable bond. This fated love. Yes, I guess it turns out fate does give a rat’s ass about you and me ending up in the right place, at the right time, with the right people. With each other._

_  
You were right, Harvey. (I know how much you love hearing that.) No one has ever gotten me the way you do. And no one is **ever** going to get me the way you do from now on. Because I’m taking you up on that offer you made. How could I ever refuse? I want you. Everything you are and will ever be. I want it. I want all of it. And I offer you all of me in return. I’m yours, only yours. I don’t know if that can make up for the hurt I’ve caused you in the past (do you know how hard it was **not** calling you first that night I went to prison?), for the things I’ve cost you (the hit the firm and your reputation has taken because of me, the painting Stemple took from you, and so much more), but I’m hoping it’s a start. I promise to love you like no one has ever loved you before and I’m ready to start making good on that promise right now._

_  
Yeah, that’s right. Right now. Remember when I wrote I went straight home and broke up with Rachel? Well, I came straight back here after (yeah, I probably should have given you your key back after we had an actual, physical fight right here in your living room before I went to prison, but somehow I just couldn’t) and wrote this letter which I intend sneaking into your room with any minute now. And then I’m just going to sit here and wait for you to wake up, read this and get the hell in here and kiss the ever-loving crap out of me. You want to know how I taste? What I feel like under your hands and on the tip of your tongue? How I like to be kissed? Come in here and find out. (Hint: the answer to that last one is by you, and as often as possible.)_

_  
Maybe stop off in that fancy en suite bathroom of yours and brush your teeth first, though. Don’t get me wrong, I’m ready to kiss you now ( **beyond** ready), morning breath and all, but I imagine your mouth probably tastes like the bottom of a birdcage right about now and I have a feeling if you take as much pride in kissing someone as you do in everything else you do, you’re going to want to be minty fresh the first time we swap saliva. Don’t worry, I brushed too. And flossed. And popped a breath mint. Or two. Possibly a dozen. (I’m nervous, okay? It’s not everyday you get what you wanted most in the world, but had convinced yourself never wanted you back.)_

_  
So get in here already, Specter. I have the coffee on. And if you play your cards right that’s the **only** thing I’m going to have on soon. (I’ve seen you play cards, Harvey. You got this.) I’m not bluffing. You think you’ve seen all of me? In the words of Bachman-Turner Overdrive, you ain’t seen nothing yet. (They’re from the 70s, just like you, old man, so I figure you’ll be good with the reference.)_

_  
Too forward? Sorry, but we’ve waited too long to play it cool and hard to get now, don’t you think? Six years of foreplay, Harvey. I think we’re ready to take the next step in our relationship. Let’s be all two people can possibly be to each other._

_  
You once told me I was a reflection of you. Well, come look in your mirror. I promise you’re going to see every ounce of love you have for me reflected back at you, and then some._

_  
I love you, Harvey. (But then all mirrors do. Seriously, have you **seen** you?) Let me show you how much._

_  
Yours, forever and always,_

_  
Mike_

_  
P.S. What do you mean, 'novelty pen’?? That’s a mint condition, limited edition collectors’ item! Don’t pretend you didn’t already know that. You’re as big a nerd as I am. It’s one of the things I love about you. (Yes, you’re a nerd, Specter! Donna showed me the photo from the Hallowe'en party when you worked at the D.A.’s office and you dressed up as Captain Kirk.)_

_  
P.P.S. Do you still have that Starfleet uniform? I ask because … reasons._

_  
P.P.P.S. (What? P.P.P.S. is a thing!) I love you. Just in case that wasn’t clear. Now come kiss your mirror. Probably won’t be the first time you’ve done that. (If this was a text I’d put a winking emoji in there just to let you know I was kidding, but you’d probably take more offence at the use of an emoji than the implication you were vain.) Okay, I’ll stop now. Not stop loving you, obviously. That’s proved impossible to do so far and shows no sign of changing. But the rambling, yeah, stopping that now. Right after I say this one more thing - get in here already! We have six years to make up for and I have a feeling it’s going to take the rest of our lives. And I can’t wait to get started._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, again! I've always wanted to write a letter fic as I love reading them, and the idea for this came to me a while ago, during the first part of season 6. Or at least Harvey's part did. The second part came later, when I had finished Harvey's letter and knew I couldn't just leave it there. I hope you enjoyed it. Come say hi in the comments or on tumblr, where I'm also known as novemberhush. Take care. Until the next time, bye and thanks for reading! xxx


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